


Do you have any other skills? (Like typing?)

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Fluff, Kink Meme, M/M, Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik make a good team, it turns out. It just takes them a while to get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you have any other skills? (Like typing?)

"You do realize that telling a potential client you have the ability to excruciatingly extract all the iron from their blood is not exactly the biggest of turn ons for most people," Charles says.

"He looked shifty," Erik growls back. "Besides, it didn't seem to stop him."

"That's because he's a masochist," Charles replies, sighing. "You got him harder than he's ever been in his life, just by," he waggles his fingers in Erik's general direction, "Doing you."

"Then why did he run away like someone had just thrown ice water on his balls?"

"Because," Charles sighs again. "He also has internalized shame about his predilections and is afraid to truly confront them."

Erik frowns. "So the telepathy thing again."

"Yes, the telepathy thing again." Charles looks faintly embarrassed.

"Maybe if you just sucked their cocks instead of trying to be their psychiatrist."

"Should I just launch myself at it the second they enter the room?"

_Well._

Charles glares.

-

The problem is, they're required by law to tell every potential john what Charles' mutation is.

Erik figures, at some point, that Charles should just lie, but then the point of seeking out a hooker in mutant town is to get yourself a mutant, and short of Charles projecting the ability to shoot fireballs out of his hands, they generally have no choice but to just come out and tell the truth.

Turns out, men and women looking to pay for sex aren't all that keen to have their innermost thoughts read by the person they're looking to pay for sex.

"As if I would," Charles says, for about the twentieth time, putting his chin on his balled fists and looking thoughtful. "But not even my friends believe me, most of the time. I don't suppose it's quite their fault."

Erik doesn't care. He deeply wants to blame those fuckers for why they're currently sitting in a cheap-ass diner counting out pennies instead of dining in at least a semi-decent restaurant. It's not asking for much, really. Charles is so pretty, he thinks, almost dreamily.

Hell, Erik would pay to fuck him.

Charles coughs, politely. "Sorry," he says, as Erik slides water across the table to him. "Stray thought."

"It's fine. I don't mind."

He is not a fucking human. Charles' mutation isn't a reason to be scared.

Except of course, when it is.

-

If only they were both better at using their powers. The truth is, Erik can barely lift a fork with his powers, let alone remove the iron content from human blood, and Charles can only read thoughts, not influence them.

Some kind of mutants, but that's okay.

They make do.

Barely.

-

"I didn't say a word this time," Erik protests, trying his best to project innocence.

"No you just stood there and did that clenched jaw thing you do."

"I can't help the way my jaw clenches." It's Erik's job as Charles' pimp to protect him, and he takes it very seriously. It's not his fault half the johns that come up to them look like potential serial killers. It's not as if he can read their minds or anything, figure out if they're dangerous or not.

No, he has to rely on instinct.

"He's a schoolteacher," Charles says, almost stomping his feet in frustration. "Helping special needs children. He didn't even care that I'm a telepath."

"Oh," Erik says. "Well, maybe he'll come back?"

"No, I don't think he will," Charles replies mournfully, jerking his head. Erik follows his gaze to across the road, where fucking Summers has the nerve to fucking wave at them before dragging the john away.

-

They get about four to five clients a week. Charles doesn't come cheap, so it's enough, but barely.

"He's cute, it's just he's not what I'm looking for, you know," the man says. There's a meaningful lilt to his voice that Erik doesn't quite understand.

"Why are you even here in the first place," Erik replies. "Fuck off, then."

"Erik!" Charles clears his throat. To the john he says, "Sorry, he's in a mood today."

"It's fine," the man says, almost slack jawed and not tearing his gaze away from Erik. He looks as if he wants to say something more, but Erik rumbles, low in his chest, and he turns tail and practically runs off.

"So much for tonight." Charles pauses. "I'm cute, right. I mean -"

"You're perfect," Erik replies automatically. "They're the ones with the problem, not you."

"Erik," Charles says.

"What?"

"Nothing."

-

"I _can't,_ " Charles practically wails. "First of all, I feel disgusting. Second of all, I'm most likely contagious. Third of all - there is no third of all because the first and second pretty much - _achoo._ " He blows his nose, and it's a testament to how ridiculously attractive Erik finds him that he doesn't actually see the problem. Charles groans and huddles deeper into his jacket. "Just because you would fuck me still."

"Charles," Erik says suddenly. "Why haven't we?"

"What? Oh." He looks vaguely flustered. Flushed pink with illness and bright eyed and imminently fuckable, in Erik's opinion. "Mixing business with pleasure and all that? I thought it was your policy or something?"

"Was it? Why on earth would I have such a ridiculous policy?" Possibly he had at some point. When he'd stumbled into the pimping business - quite by accident, just helping out a friend who'd quickly gone on to far bigger and better things (read: stripping in a gentlemen's club) - he might have had.

Oh yeah, the manifesto.

"I was young and foolish then," Erik says, faintly defensive. It seemed deeply important at the time. Of course at the time he'd imagined he'd have a bevy of workers, and the temptation would be impossible without some ground rules.

A few months later, and he only has Charles.

But Erik won't trade him in for anything.

"Thank you, love," Charles says, before he sneezes again. "When I get better, we should totally -"

"Yes," Erik says eagerly. _"Yes."_

A car's pulling up to the curb. Charles starts putting on his game face, but Erik puts a hand on his arm. "You're in no condition, you just said."

"We need to eat. I do at least. You can survive on crackers and plain water, I know that."

"Shush, Charles," Erik says.

The driver rolls down his window. "How much," he asks, glancing from the one of them to the next. And what can you do, is the unspoken question.

"I'm the master of magnetism," Erik says, scowling.

Charles snorts as an expression of alarm crosses the man's face. He leans down into the window and smiles, entirely charmingly. "I'm Charles. I do apologize, I'm not really feeling well tonight. Perhaps some other day."

"Oh," the guy says, shifting his gaze from Charles to Erik. "I thought maybe he was the - I'll pay for you both?"

Huh, Erik thinks. "He's still sick, but I'm available, sure."

"Erik?" Charles seems uncertain. Erik ignores him.

Fuck it, they need to eat.

-

So it turns out that johns don't care that Erik refuses to smile, and that he isn't funny or sweet or charming like Charles. Mostly the humans get excited when he makes the bedposts rattle, and _everyone_ gets excited when he takes his cock out.

Charles sorts their takings for the night. It's a fair amount. Semi-decent restaurant indeed.

"We should have taken that last one," Erik says, yawning.

"No. You're exhausted."

"I had room for one more."

"Plus I didn't like where his thoughts were headed," Charles says, shaking his head.

"Really? But you were so polite when turning him away."

"It doesn't pay to be rude." He folds the money and makes it disappear into his pocket. "Do you genuinely have room for one more?"

"Depends," Erik says, narrowing his eyes. "Who's the one?"

Charles smiles, slow and soft.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14661944).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Four Rules for the Mutant Town Hustler (Erik's Manifesto Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/815335) by [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce)




End file.
